Dementia
by Chiblets
Summary: *AU Universe* Alfred Jones is a highly esteemed American psychiatrist, one of the few who sees the mentally ill as human beings. Arthur Kirkland, a tortured, violent schizophrenic who has shut out the world, is his patient. Many have given up on the young Brit and have turned their backs on him, unable to deal with his resistance. What difference could another doctor possibly make?
1. Chapter 1

It was an enormous, intimidating Victorian-style structure, with windows of lovely stained glass, colorful flowers arranged welcomingly on either side of the steps leading to the tall, wooden doors that stood as an entrance to the building, fresh green grass peppered with clover and dandelions, all closed in by a towering, iron fence and gate with spiked tips. It was an impressive and gorgeous building, through the pure eyes of a child being the icon of a fairy tale castle…while to those who had already lost their light, who had already been shown what the world truly is, the Victorian building represented society's lowest, those equal to the mud caked under a farmer's boot.

A small child, who could only have been five years old, stood at the gates of the institution, tightly squeezing his father's hand as he stared at the structure in awe. His bright, forest green eyes were wide as he took in the beauty of it all; the flowers, the architecture, everything. His gaze fell on the closed gate and his admiration died. Huddling close to his father's side, the boy shivered at the sudden terrible feeling that rooted in his belly. Observing the black iron fencing, he wondered if it was there to keep trespassers from entering, or the residents from leaving. The thought sent chills down his spine.

"Come now, Arthur," his father said as he the iron gates were opened, beckoning the pair inside.

Arthur looked up hopefully at his father, wanting to meet the man's gaze for encouragement, but the man wouldn't even spare him a glance. The boy sighed heavily, frowned, and dropped his eyes to the ground, feeling dejected as he obediently walked alongside his father through the gates. His shoulders sagged pitifully as he scanned the area, trying to distract himself by taking in more of the beautiful scenery. However, this was completely unsuccessful.

"It's a shame. He's so young," a voice drew his gaze to the side. Arthur noticed a pair of men in uniform studying him, judging him, as he passed.

One of them scoffed. "Don't feel bad just because he's a kid, and don't let him fool you either. They say the young ones are just as loony as any of the adults."

Arthur listened on with interest. "True…you have that right. It's still a bloody shame though. I mean, that's Detective Kirkland's child right there," the other sighed, shaking his head in dismay. "I imagine it's very embarrassing to have a child like that."

"Agreed,"

Arthur, confused by the exchange, furrowed his eyebrows in thought and tried to wrap his young mind around the words, hoping to unearth the meaning behind them, but came up empty. He decided at this point it would be best to consult the one he trusted the most. "Hey, Oliver, what are those guards talking about?"

_They're obviously talking about you, poppet. You're a big loony, you know, _Oliver responded with a snap, causing Arthur to flinch and burrow himself deeper into his father's side.

"But I'm not a loony, Ollie…I'm not…," the boy whispered. "Mommy always told me I was normal."

_Well your mommy was a big loony too. That's probably why you're so crazy, _Oliver huffed and Arthur imagined he'd be rolling his eyes now.

"My mommy was not a big loony! And neither am I!" Arthur growled, going on the defensive and raising his voice slightly.

"Quiet, Arthur," his father spoke up, tone harsh and full of warning.

Arthur immediately shut his mouth and flushed in embarrassment. He didn't like it when his father talked to him like that, but lately it was the only tone the man would take with him. What happened to the loving father he knew? Had he done something to make his father angry with him…? Arthur didn't understand what was making his father so distant from him…was he not loved anymore…?

"F-father…?" Arthur addressed softly and waited a beat for a reply. One didn't come.

He decided to try again, louder this time and with more confidence. "Father."

He received no answer again. Detective Kirkland merely glanced down at Arthur briefly before entering the building. Arthur's confidence deflated. His father really was angry with him…but why…?

Arthur shook his head to clear away the hurtful thoughts plaguing him and blinked in surprise when his father's hand suddenly ripped itself out of his grip, taking the only comfort he had. The boy looked up at his father, eyes darkening with fear.

"F-father?"

Detective gave no sign that he'd heard his son and stood staring ahead, his hands crossed behind his back. Arthur whimpered quietly and reached up to take his father's sleeve, to hang on to any sort of comfort he could get. However, he was startled when his hand was roughly rejected with a swat. Arthur instantly pulled his stinging hand back and cradled it close to his chest, sincerely hurt by the smack. Tears stung his eyes as the hurt set in. He harshly bit the inside of his cheek and forced his eyes to remain open, even when the tears blinded him. Arthur was determined not to cry. Even at his young age, he had a strong sense of pride and wouldn't be caught dead crying in public, if he could help it. Arthur discreetly wiped his eyes. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't.

"Is this the boy, Kirkland?"

Arthur jumped at the new, unfamiliar voice, quickly turning to face the direction the voice had come from. Warily, he took in the sight of a tall, older man dawning a crisp, white coat. The blonde gaped at the man, surprisingly recognizing him to be a doctor. Arthur had been seeing doctors with his late mother since he could walk, so he was quite familiar with them. But why was he seeing one now…? He didn't think he was sick…

"Father," Arthur began quietly, "who is that…?"

"This is him," Detective Kirkland responded to the doctor, waving off and ignoring Arthur's question.

_He's going to leave you. This must be the house for loony people, _Oliver mumbled solemnly, voicing Arthur's unspoken suspicions and making's the boy's heart drop.

"Ah, I know you said he was young, but not this young," the doctor knelt in front of Arthur, plastering a false smile on his face. "Hello there, Arthur,"

Arthur blankly stared at the doctor, disapproving the childish, baby-talk tone he used. "Don't talk to me like that. I'm not a baby," the boy snapped, puffing out his cheeks in a prideful pout.

The doctor chuckled and pinched one of Arthur's cheeks, the boy flinching in response. "You're cute, but I expect to earn more respect from you during your stay, Arthur."

_I knew it, _Oliver proclaimed. _They found out you're a loony and now they're lockin' you away._

Arthur rubbed his offended cheek and back peddled away from the doctor, not wanting to believe it. "No, I'm not staying here." He turned his eyes to his father, desperate. "I'm not staying, right?"

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice, Arthur," the doctor, leaning toward the frightened child, ruffled the blonde's disorderly hair and rose to his feet, towering over Arthur. "Your father has told me that you're very sick, and in order for you to get better you'll have to stay."

Arthur gazed up at the doctor, despair looming over him in the form of this medical man. The boy swallowed thickly and shifted his saddened, tortured green eyes to his father. He simply couldn't believe that his father was going to just dump him here. His father was better than that—and besides, he wasn't a loony as Oliver so claimed. He was a completely normal child…

…Wasn't he?

"Just take him away already," Detective Kirkland turned his back on his child. "I can't stand looking at him anymore. He's just as crazy as his mother."

_Arthur's a loony-bird, Arthur's a loony-bird! _Oliver's shrill voice and laughter rang in the child's ears. Arthur stared at his father in horror, heart breaking at the words. Shock overcame him and his legs shook violently, causing him to become unstable. He fell roughly to his knees, eyes welling up once more with tears. His heart rate sped up and thundered in his chest. Arthur's breaths became short and ragged, panic and hysteria overcoming him quickly.

"I'm not crazy, father! I'm not! Please don't leave me here! I'll be better, I promise!" Arthur pleaded, hoping that something would make his father change his mind. "I won't do anything bad ever again! I'll be good from now on, I swear! Just take me back home, father! Please! I'm scared!"

_Arthur's a loony! Arthur's a loony! Loony-bird loony! _Oliver continued in a mocking, sing-song tone. _Loony, loony, loony!_

Arthur covered his ears to block out Oliver's voice—his attempts in vain since the voice came from his own mind. He tightly squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. "Shut up, Ollie! Shut up! I'm not loony! I'm normal! I'm normal!" His breath hitched as he tried to control his voice and crying. "F-father, please don't leave me here! I'm not crazy! They're all real! Oliver, Uni, Bunny, all of them! They're all real! I'm not m-making it up! I swear it! Please, believe me!"

Detective Kirkland was frozen in place. Hearing the declarations from his son broke his heart. He loved his son, but upon finding out about Arthur's sickness, he found there was no choice but to leave him. The doctors had reassured him that the institution would be best for his son. Detective Kirkland wasn't a doctor and knew nothing about the field of mental health at all, so as much as he didn't like the idea he knew there was no other option. Arthur was insane; a schizo. Because of this, Kirkland knew that he would never be accepted as a respected person of society. The doctors were right; this was best for Arthur.

"Arthur," Kirkland said, pulling himself together and glancing back at his grief stricken son. "Please, stop. Be a good boy, Arthur."

Arthur bowed his head, throwing out his pride to cry freely. He was only a child after all. "I'm s-so scared. Father, please come back… I'm not c-crazy…"

Kirkland, without so much as another glance at Arthur, walked away, leaving the boy at the mercy of the asylum's doctors.


	2. Chapter 2

Violent, terrorizing screams and cries resounded terribly throughout the halls of the institution, all voiced by the sick and demented. Some inmates threw themselves against the iron doors of their personal prisons, tossing a loud, clanging sound into the wild cacophony. The clinking, shuffling and grunting of those fighting the restraints that held them, along with the soft threats from the staff, could be heard if one were to personally approach any of these cells. Each inmate played their part in the noise; however, among them all one voice rang loudest when the opportunity to vocalize approached: the voice of Arthur Kirkland.

The young man hadn't been there long—fifteen years was hardly a long while when compared to the years some resided there—yet he was considered the foulest of the crazed. While many of the residents had no inkling of the damage and havoc they wreaked, Arthur did—or more specifically "Oliver" did.

In the span of years Arthur had been locked up, he had only gotten worse and worse, his voice soon leaving him and his consciousness burrowing and shying away from the world; this allowed Oliver the freedom to do as he so pleased. And Oliver took advantage of every moment that Arthur gave him. Earlier in his existence, Oliver had been no threat—the most that he did was tease and act as a comforter who took on many of young Arthur's woes and troubles. Since going through adolescence, however, Oliver had changed drastically and evolved into a violent, manipulating entity while Arthur had become quiet and reserved, an empty shell.

No doctor or nurse in the entire institution had been able to help the schizophrenic man—It's not like they tried very hard; the first time Oliver took control he bit and went about his own violent resistance, just to refuse the treatment doctors wanted to test on Arthur. After that, a straightjacket was slapped on and Oliver was gagged, drugged, and leeched until finally he was rendered unconscious. Thanks to Oliver, Arthur was forced to endure this cruel practice a number of times. Sometimes, if Oliver had been particularly bad, the doctors would resort to violence of their own or even rape Arthur.

It had to stop; someone had to put an end to this madness, on both sides. But if none of the institution's highly esteemed physicians could stand Arthur Kirkland and the wild counterpart, then who could? Who would dare try and fix what so many had failed to?


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Alfred F. Jones took a deep, relaxing breath and stood nervously in front of Arthur Kirkland's cell, the patient's file tucked under his arm and the rusted key to the cell held firmly in his hand. The whole way to this secluded portion of the asylum, he could hear the whines, curses and agonized screams of the other sadly ill people locked away. That didn't unnerve him; he was used to hearing this and even somewhat welcomed the sound. It was familiar, something he'd dealt with and remedied before. What had him on edge was the silence. No sound of any kind was coming from the cell he was meant to enter. No screams, no whines or cries. Not even breathing could be heard—which made Alfred momentarily wonder if the patient had died—and that admittedly made the physician nervous. If Alfred was uncomfortable with anything, it was silence.

"You going in or not?" The guard nearby asked, tapping his foot impatiently as if he had better places to be. In the guard's own falsely justified opinion, this was probably true. "If you're backing out then I don't blame you. There's no helping that loon."

Alfred cast a sideways glance at the foul guard and frowned. "You can't know that. Anyone can be helped with the proper attention and care. Anyway, I'm going in."

The guard scoffed and rolled his eyes at Alfred's positive outlook. "Typical yank. Are all Americans so positive?" He shook his head in dismay and regarded the physician with a skeptical stare. "Good luck. You're going to need it. That one's a monster."

The American narrowed his eyes, choosing to ignore the man's earlier comment, and gazed back at the closed door. "I can't believe that."

Shrugging, the guard stared coldly in the direction of said patient's room. "You will. There's a reason he's got a place to himself. Before the jacket, that _thing_ nearly murdered one of our nurses. I've never seen an invalid so violent. Stupid chav devoured half her face." Alfred shuddered; he could only imagine how that gruesome scene played out. "The nutter enjoyed every bloody minute of it. I could hardly get him off her."

The doctor swallowed back his disgust and took a deep breath. Clearly, what he just heard wasn't good and obviously reflected just how extreme his patient is. However, a job was a job, and no matter how bad this Arthur character was, he wasn't going to back down. He could be helped. "Even so…he's still a person. If he doesn't get the help he needs, then things like that will happen again…"

"Well go on then. Honestly, you shouldn't even bother. That tosser is dead from the neck up. You can't get anywhere with him,"

Alfred shrugged off the guard's words and clenched his fists, staring at the only thing blockading him from his patient. Alfred paused, gathering up his courage, and unlocked the iron door, cringing at the terrible squealing the hinges made when he pushed it open.

Confidently, he strode into the personal cell of his patient and closed the door behind him before allowing his brilliant blue eyes to travel the area of the room. There wasn't really much to look at, honestly. A hospital bed, surprisingly neatly made, resided in the corner of the dimly lit cell; a small, iron barred window was located directly across from the bed, permitting sunlight to shine through and aide the sad excuse for a light fixture in giving the room some lighting; and besides simple, hardly decent lavatory items, that was about all that occupied the room. Now there was only one other thing to locate—his patient.

Placing a hand on his hip, Alfred narrowed his eyes and finally caught sight of what he was looking for. His patient was seemingly cowering in a darker corner of the cell, watching him with glowing, guarded green eyes. A strait-jacket restrained the man's arms and restricted much of what he could do. While he looked down on such a use of restraint, Alfred was momentarily relieved that because of it he was in no immediate danger from the patient. With a brief shake of the head to push away his lingering wariness, the American carried on with his physical analysis of Arthur. The Brit's hair was a very light shade of blonde—if it were any lighter then it could be classified as white—with messily cut bangs that barely managed to hide the prominent, thick eyebrows furrowed above his eyes. Everything about Arthur's hair was a mess, pieces sticking out at almost every angle. It made Alfred wonder if anyone had ever bothered to groom Arthur.

Alfred released a soft sigh and made his way slowly toward the blonde, careful in his stride so as to not frighten Arthur. The American noted how the patient began to tense up at his approach and stopped, holding both hands up and offering Arthur a friendly smile.

"Nothing to be afraid of, I'm not going to hurt you," Alfred began, keeping his eyes on Arthur to watch for any change in attitude. "I'm Dr. Alfred Jones, your new physician. And you're Arthur Kirkland. Am I right?"

Arthur scowled and took a bold step out into the lighting, the small rays of light accentuating the malicious expression etched onto his features. The blonde wrinkled up his nose in disgust and spat at the doctor, regarding him with evident disdain. Alfred remained rooted in place, wanting to continue to appear confident. If he showed a shred of anything resembling fear or nervousness, Alfred didn't doubt that this particular patient would take full advantage of that.

"I am NOT Arthur!" the blonde growled, venom lacing his tone. The patient's eyes burned with pure hatred for the physician; Alfred could see it clearly, but wouldn't allow that to intimidate him.

"Oliver, then?" Alfred began, cursing mentally. He hadn't expected to encounter the real problem behind Arthur so early in their first meeting. "I apologize. I didn't realize that it was you. Forgive me. I really didn't know."

"Oh drop the act, _doctor_. I can hardly believe that this kindness of yours is genuine," Oliver snarled, flaring his nostrils in blatant fury. "What will it be, yank? Shall I bend over so you can quietly have your way with me? Or do you prefer your patients to struggle while you ruthlessly dominate them? Do tell, sweet doctor. I'm waiting."

Alfred, taken aback by Oliver's words, could not help but blush. "H-hey, no, that's not something I-"

"Don't even bother denying. You all do it, don't you? The moment a patient turns their back you're all over them," Oliver interrupted and leaned in toward the doctor, stopping only when they were quite literally nose to nose. While uncomfortable with the closeness, Alfred remained still so as not to further upset the Brit. "I'll bet you smash their pretty faces if they struggle, Dr. Jones. Poor dears. You simply can't keep your hands off an invalid, can you doctor? We're all just so bloody helpless, aren't we?"

"I assure you, Oliver, that I have not once laid my hands on a patient like that. I don't plan to either," Alfred took a step back from the other, finding the invasion of personal space to finally be too much. "It goes against my morals. I wouldn't dare take advantage of someone like that. It's disgusting, really. So you don't have to worry." Again the doctor tried flashing another smile, hoping to calm down Oliver. "No harm will come to you by my hands."

Oliver scoffed, in apparent disbelief, and rolled his eyes, scowling. "That's what they all say, Dr. Jones. They all walk in here, just as you did, with false words of justice and concern," the blonde shifted his gaze away from the doctor, eyes darkening. "All they leave behind is a trail of broken promises and more wounds for us to tend. Tell me, how are you going to be any different? Hm? Can you tell me that, yank?"

Alfred listened to the rant with interest, not for a moment doubting that Oliver was speaking the truth. He'd heard many reports of the treatment of this particular patient, most he had admittedly written off as disturbing rumors, but he hadn't thought that they would turn out to be true. Now looking at the sick individual, he could see that those rumors were probably true. No one is so defensive and hateful for no reason. There had to have been abuse at play.

"I won't hurt you like they did. I'm going to help you. I swear. You'll be out in the world again before you know it," Alfred proclaimed, tightening his resolve to restore the patient's mind to normal.

The Briton responded with another roll of the eyes and squirmed around in his strait-jacket. "You're a bloody liar. No one ever gets out of here. Once you get in this loony-house, you're in. It's a life sentence."

The American shook his head and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, disapproving of the negative attitude Oliver had. "I never go back on my word. You'll be out. Just let me help you."

"You mean Arthur. You're not here to help me, poppet," Oliver retorted, whipping his head back give Alfred a scathing glare. "Arthur's the one who carries the insanity. Not me."

Alfred went silent, having no comforting response for Oliver. It was true. Arthur was the real person, after all. It's only natural that Alfred would attempt to cure him, and not the consequence of Arthur's mental illness.

"Oliver, why are you so violent?" Alfred questioned, dodging the subject. "From what I understand, it wasn't until you started misbehaving that the abuse began. Why did the violence start in the first place?"

Oliver's expression changed in an instant. A wide grin occupied his features and his eyes lit up sadistically. He giggled softly at first, seeming only mildly amused with Alfred's question. His quiet chuckling soon escalated into a mad cackling. Alfred stared at the Brit in surprise, startled by his sudden change in mood. Had something the doctor said been funny?

"Sweet doctor, you just don't understand," Oliver purred, sending shivers down Alfred's spine. "It's so much _fun_. I mean, the whole lot of them deserves it. Swear they do. They think they can just waltz in here with their fancy little treatments and pills and expect me to be ok with that?" Oliver tilted his head up slightly, a dangerous look settling in his eyes. "No, so I fight them. I know their dodgy cures are nothing but rubbish. So it gives me all the more a reason to retaliate. I bite, I scratch and claw, I fight with everything I have…and I _enjoy_ it."

Alfred opened his mouth to make a comment, but was interrupted as Oliver continued on with his rant. "I enjoy it very much, doctor. It makes me so happy to see how pained those foolish doctors and their little nurses look…speaking of nurses…" The blonde licked his lips and chuckled darkly, emerald eyes glazing over with a sick, childishly blissful glint. "I remember one so clearly. She was a blonde, quite like myself, but such a little twit. I recall she leaned in rather close to take my temperature and I…_oh_…I took quite a bite out of that pretty little face." Another twisted chuckle left Oliver's lips. "You cannot possibly understand how amazing it felt to devour her flesh. She had such a delicate taste to her."

Gaping at the Brit, Alfred felt his stomach do flips and twists upon registering the satisfaction on Oliver's face. He swallowed thickly to keep down the wave of nausea threatening to overtake him. So the guard's story was definitely true. If the American had any doubt about it, then that doubt was now completely erased. The psychotic side of this patient wasn't just violent and disobedient, he was also a cannibal. Alfred didn't like this fact, but it had to be dealt with…

…just not right yet.

Uncomfortable with being in the presence of Oliver, Alfred cleared his throat and was more than ready to dismiss himself for the day and reflect on what he'd learned so far of his patient's counterpart. However, before he could begin to announce his departure, Alfred noticed that the attitude of his patient had changed significantly…again. No longer was the blonde talking and indulging in the memory of consuming a former nurse's face. The Brit was silent and staring ahead blankly, his face now void of any expression. Alfred knitted his eyebrows together as he observed the invalid, wondering what the cause of the change was. Suddenly, the answer hit him.

_Arthur Kirkland was back in control._

Sighing heavily in relief, Alfred felt a genuine smile come back onto his face as he took a step closer to his patient. "I suppose you've decided to come out now, Arthur?"

Arthur made no response. He merely stood and continued to stare as if he hadn't heard the doctor. Alfred blinked and slowly waved a hand in front of the unresponsive man's eyes. The Brit didn't even blink.

"You really aren't all there…are you…?" the American allowed his smile to drop. "Surely you weren't always like this…they made you this way, didn't they?" Still no response.

Alfred opened his mouth to speak again, but decided against it and gazed into the blonde's lifeless eyes. He felt true sympathy for Arthur. For someone to be so abused and mistreated that they would retreat so far into themselves like this saddened the American. Was the medical system really so corrupted nowadays? Had it always been like this? Had doctors and nurses of the mentally ill always been so cruel…? Alfred didn't know the answer, and it disturbed him. Most physicians that he'd come across seemed so gentle in his presence. Had he been blinded all this time?

"I'm leaving now, but I'll be back," Alfred finally managed quietly. "I promise I'll be back tomorrow. I'm going to help you, I swear."

Reaching out, Alfred gently ruffled his patient's hair and turned, exiting the isolated cell with mixed feelings about the one whom he was determined to fix.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur closed his eyes and imagined himself in a field; a field that hinted at the beginning of spring, with nature blooming and life buzzing about everywhere. As he became more absorbed in the vision, the asylum thankfully faded away from existence. He looked up at the sky, so beautifully blue and dusted with white, fluffy clouds. It was wonderful, simply wonderful. His asylum room dulled in comparison. He took a deep breath and swore that he could smell the fresh air outside, almost as if he were actually physically there. A soft breeze swept by and made the blonde shiver pleasantly. It really was such a wonderful vision, so real and enchanting. Much better than the world he lived in. Could he not just stay there, lie in the gorgeous grass, and forget about everything? Everything that had ever harmed or scared him; everything that he could do without…he wanted to forget it all. Who's to say he couldn't?

Oliver.

The Brit shifted his gaze to the side, his eyes taking in the sight of a man so similar to him. This man could pass for Arthur's twin, save for the more strawberry blonde tint the man's hair took on, the deep ocean blue eyes, and the light dusting of freckles peppering the pale skin. Oliver also held a malevolent aura about him. It didn't matter if he was being kind, the aura was still present. Behind the kind smile, Arthur knew to always be wary, for the evil that Oliver held could easily surpass the evil of those who hurt him.

"What is it, Oliver?" Arthur softly addressed Oliver, tipping his head in question.

Oliver crossed his arms and approached Arthur, frowning. "_I simply cannot stand that new doctor, poppet. He's no different from the others._"

Mirroring Oliver, Arthur frowned. He hadn't been fully paying attention or even responding to Dr. Jones, but he didn't exactly have anything against him, yet. From what he heard and saw, the doctor was only trying to be nice. "I thought he was quite the gentleman…"

"_You must _really _be mad then. I'm telling you, love, he's no different. That Dr. Jones may seem sweet, but just you wait. He's going to turn around and go back on all of his silly proclamations just like everyone else in this madhouse_!" Oliver snapped, staring at Arthur in disdain.

Arthur flinched back at Oliver's harsh tone and bowed his head, unable to look at his counterpart any longer. Oliver was probably right, and that only upset Arthur. He didn't want a repeat of last time. If Dr. Jones really did turn out to be like every other doctor in the asylum…then he wasn't sure that he'd live through this treatment. Any more abuse could break him.

Oliver watched the other and sighed heavily, his expression softening. "_Oh…oh,_ _poppet, I'm sorry_…" The strawberry blonde gently pulled Arthur into a hug, ready to give him the comfort he needed.

Scowling, Arthur ripped himself from Oliver and kept his distance from the other. Years of mistreatment had failed to break him of the stubborn pride he'd inherited from his father. The schizo glared at Oliver, insulted by the other's attempt at comfort. Maybe when he was a child, he would've accepted it, indulged in it even. But now, as an adult, he couldn't dare bring himself to take it. Oliver had caused him so much harm during their stay that he couldn't possibly accept just a hug and apology for all of the damage done. It was ridiculous for Oliver to even consider it appropriate.

"_W-what's wrong, love...?_" Oliver sputtered, in obvious disbelief that Arthur would push him away like that.

Arthur hugged himself and turned his gaze to the ground. He could tell Oliver was upset, which wasn't good for him. When Oliver was upset, Arthur saw things…_terrible _things. The blonde couldn't deal with that right now. Arthur took a deep breath and erased all expression from his face, leaving him with his usual blank, listless stare when he looked back up at Oliver. "Nothing at all…you're right. I apologize. Dr. Jones will more than likely become just like everyone else…"

"_Don't apologize, Arthur. You can't help being hopeful,_" Oliver murmured.

Deciding he was done with the vision, Arthur yanked himself out of the lovely field, opened his true eyes…

…and found himself back in his dark, tiny prison cell. No blue sky and white clouds, no flowers, no life…

**...xXx...**

Alfred yawned loudly, fumbling with the pen as he signed in to the asylum. He lazily grabbed the key to his patient's cell and pocketed it before meandering down the long, narrow hallway to the male ward of the institution, his footsteps sluggish and lethargic. He never was a morning person, and he figured that he wouldn't be one for as long as he lived. Alfred rubbed his eyes under his glasses, mentally preparing himself for what was in store with his patient.

The day before had been an admittedly uncomfortable experience for Alfred, but he'd managed to swallow down his discomfort and drag himself out of bed this morning. And for what reason? He could easily drop the case and settle with someone much less violent with _much _less problems, but that's not how Alfred operated. He'd taken the case and met with this patient—he'd even made a promise to Arthur, and it wasn't in his nature to break a promise. There was no going back. Alfred was going to see this case through to the end. Arthur Kirkland was going to be freed. Fifteen years of the Brit's life had been wasted in this hell. The doctor only thought it right that he assist Arthur in obtaining his freedom; so he wouldn't drop the case and he wouldn't back down like some kind of coward. Alfred would save his patient.

Eyes brightening significantly, Alfred felt a small smile tug at his lips and confidence pulled him out of his morning mood. The doctor's steps quickened in anticipation. The faster he made it to Arthur's room, the better. He was all pumped and ready to contribute something positive into that man's life.

But something stopped him, or more like someone. Alfred slowed to a stop as another doctor met him in the hall. The other doctor was an intimidatingly tall,—though Alfred wouldn't openly admit this—silver-haired man with ominously vibrant violet eyes. He was a big man, Alfred noted, who looked like he could snap someone like a twig without even trying. The thought made Alfred shudder. This was definitely someone that the American did _not_ want to meet in a dark alley.

"Ah," the man blinked his mauve eyes in surprise, giving the American a quick look-over before applying a falsely polite smile to his features. If this other doctor was trying to look friendly, then he was failing, miserably. The smile only added to the creepy aura that he was giving off. "You must be the new doctor. From America, da?"

Though he tried hard not to let racism enter his mind, it unfortunately made its way there and instantly, Alfred didn't like this doctor.

_Russian,_ Alfred thought bitterly and attempted to keep the annoyance out of his expression. Whether he was succeeding or not, he didn't know. The other doctor gave no sign of acknowledgement either way. Of all the ethnicities out there, he just had to meet the Russian. He knew that it was wrong to have prejudices against an entire group, but the whole Red Scare ordeal back home naturally put him on edge around anyone who could be labeled as being from the Soviet Union. Alfred didn't want to associate himself with those kinds of people; he blamed that on his purely patriotic upbringing. Communist propaganda and films, radical bombings, and all of the government's paranoid policies against radicals, communists, and anarchists planted racism into the minds of the American people.

Pushing back his rude thoughts, Alfred forced a friendly smile onto his face and held out his hand to the Russian. "Yeah, that's me. I'm Dr. Jones. And you are…?"

"Dr. Braginski," the Russian reached out and grasped the offered hand, his grip bone-breaking as he gave Alfred's hand a shake. Alfred cringed and hoped to God that the other hadn't noticed. "It is a pleasure to do the meeting of you. You are the Kirkland boy's new physician, da?"

"That's right," Alfred wriggled his captured hand out of Dr. Braginski's grasp and flexed it at his side to get feeling in it again. Much to his disappointment, Dr. Braginski noticed and seemed amused.

The other watched him, violet eyes lit up curiously. The Russian's stare unnerved Alfred, made him uncomfortable in his own skin. "Interesting. I heard you met him yesterday. How did that go?"

Alfred paused and thought back on his first encounter with the patient, recalling Oliver's accusations and hatred and Arthur's lack of reaction. Considering all that was said, Alfred thought it went rather well. "I was a little surprised by what I heard and saw, but it was fine."

Dr. Braginski chuckled softly, his curiosity shifting to amusement. "You did the meeting of Oliver, I presume. I feel sorry for you. I didn't meet the animal until a few visits in."

"Animal?" Alfred narrowed his eyes at the other. What was with everyone dehumanizing Arthur like that? He didn't understand, and it genuinely angered him. "Don't call him that."

"Why shouldn't I?" the Russian cocked an eyebrow at the American, his expression becoming cool and reserved. "That is what they are, _animals_. All of the patients in here. Kirkland is no exception just because you feel sorry for him."

Disgusted by the shared philosophy, Alfred regarded Dr. Braginski coldly and hated him now more than ever. To lower people down to animals was wrong, revolting. There was no reason in the world good enough to justify that. "Is that what you think? That these poor people are animals? What the hell is wrong with you? They can't help how they act. They're sick! For God's sake, show a little respect, sympathy, anything!"

"You are naïve," Dr. Braginski folded his arms over his chest and leaned back comfortably against the wall. "You are highly respected back in little America, but do you really know anything about this field? Are you as knowledgeable as people say? Dr. Jones, why do you think people are here?"

Alfred's cheeks stung with embarrassment. Having this man stand there and question him like this was insulting. There was a reason why people respected him, and it wasn't because he didn't know his field. "Of course. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't know. The mentally ill are supposed to be sent here to get better so they can resume their lives."

Again, the Russian chuckled at him, a smug smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "That is where you are wrong. It seems nice to say that the animals of society are here to get better, but in reality, that's not the case." Alfred glared, grinding his teeth to suppress his anger. "You see, Dr. Jones, society would rather lock away its scum from sight. There's no treatment here because the patients cannot be treated. We store the invalids here and by doing so, our society is healthier." The doctor paused, looking as though he were thinking hard on something. "Julian Huxley said it best, 'Every defective man, woman and child is a burden. Every defective is an extra body for the nation to feed and clothe, but produces little or nothing in return.'"

Alfred took a deep breath and counted to ten. What he heard boiled his blood. In his opinion, anyone who thought like that was an idiot. No one was a burden. Every person had something to contribute to society. People shouldn't just be locked away because they're sick or deformed in some way. It's supposed to be the job of others to support their sick.

"You're the one who's wrong. Your thinking is twisted too. Just because someone is mentally ill or 'defective' doesn't mean they're a burden. Everyone deserves a chance to show what they have to contribute, and locking them away for their whole lives doesn't help." In an instant, every patient Alfred had ever treated came to mind. "And what's this about them being untreatable? With the right humane treatment, anyone can be helped and cured. You just have to work with them, and you can't be too forceful with your treatments, or they'll shut you out. It's a team effort between you and your patient."

For a long while, the Russian stared at him in disbelief. It was obvious by his expression that he did not agree with Alfred's point of view, but that didn't matter. Alfred was set in his ways, and apparently so was Dr. Braginski. "You are a fool and you will find that these inmates belong here. They shouldn't be let back out into society with respectable people." With that, Dr. Braginski pushed himself off the wall and shoved past the American, ending the conversation with his departure.

Alfred growled and shot a heated glare towards the other doctor, wishing he had the ability to beat him to a pulp. But Dr. Braginski had some obvious advantages over him so the idea was quickly discarded and Alfred went on his way. He had better things to be doing than conversing with a man like that.

The American entered the male ward and quickly walked to the end of it, calling for the elevator and hopping inside. He pressed the up button and waited patiently on the ride up, cooling the fire in his blood so he wouldn't give off a bad vibe to Arthur. The last thing he wanted to do was scare him. The elevator soon made it to his desired floor and he stepped out, greeting the guard with a curt nod before unlocking his patient's cell and waltzing inside. He hoped that it would be Arthur he was meeting and not Oliver. Observing the condition of his patient, he found his hopes were answered.

Arthur sat silently in the middle of the room, staring blankly out the window. The Brit seemed just like he was the day before, not all there. Alfred summoned up a real smile and approached the quiet man, sitting cross-legged in front of him.

"Hello, Arthur. Feel up to talking?" Alfred inquired, waiting a beat for some kind of response. He didn't get one. "You don't have to, but it sure would be easier on me if you at least tried to communicate with me. I'm going to ask you some questions, ok? Real basic stuff. Just answer me if you feel like it."

Arthur remained hushed and continued to gaze lifelessly at the doctor. Alfred shifted to make himself more comfortable and made eye contact with the Brit. "Are you having a good day?"

No response. Alfred sighed.

"Are you having a bad day?" the doctor rested his elbow on his thigh and his chin in the palm of his hand, watching for any change in expression. There was none. "What about an okay day, huh? If it's not good or bad it's got to be somewhere in the middle, right?"

Here came the change. Arthur blinked. Alfred paused and was suddenly overcome with excitement. Sure it was a subtle change, but a change nonetheless. Any kind of progress was excellent and worth being joyous over.

A thought then hit him: What if this was a form of communication? It was a long shot, but definitely a possibility.

"Arthur, is this your way of communicating? Blink for yes," Alfred waited a moment, anticipation rising as the seconds ticked by. Maybe he was wrong and Arthur blinked like any normal person would.

Arthur, after what seemed like eternity, blinked again. Alfred grinned and tried his very best to control his excitement. If he got too worked up, then Arthur would most likely cut him off and they'd be right back to square one. He had to be careful. He couldn't be too energetic with this; he needed to be calm.

"Wonderful, that's great. Will you answer some questions for me then?" Alfred asked, unable to keep the eagerness out of his tone no matter how hard he tried. This was just too good.

The Brit responded with yes again and Alfred had to bite his cheek to keep in a thrilled cheer. "Thank you, Arthur." The doctor kept quiet for a bit to think of questions to ask. "You came here as a child, is that correct?"

Arthur blinked.

"From the reputation you have, I assume you don't like it here. Is that true?"

Another blink.

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. This was working. It wasn't the greatest system in the world, but it would work for now. The American was only thankful that Arthur was participating.

"And you've suffered abuse because of it?"

This time there was no immediate response, but Alfred knew that his patient wasn't ignoring him. He could see the gears turning in Arthur's mind, struggling to decide whether or not to answer the question.

"I'm sorry. That's pretty personal and we've just met. You don't have to answer that one. I got another for you though," the doctor nodded and smirked, hoping to lighten the mood with a joke. "Do ya like tea and scones? You know, since you're English and all. I'll bet you do."

This provoked a more animated reaction in Arthur. The Brit furrowed his eyebrows and actually focused in on the doctor instead of keeping his gaze glued to the window, but in the end blinked. Alfred laughed at the reaction, elated to see that his patient wasn't just a stone-faced mute.

"Great, how about I get you some then? You've been good to me so far and I'll bet you haven't had real food in a _long_ time," the American happily jumped to his feet and smiled down at Arthur. "I'll be right back."

Alfred left the room in high spirits, feeling better than ever before.

"He drive you out already?" the guard asked, nonchalantly cleaning out from under his dirty fingernails.

"No, I'm getting him a snack," Alfred replied before leaving the surprised guard behind.

**...xXx...**

"Oliver, I fancy this new doctor…" Arthur spoke softly, unsure of how the voice in his head would respond. He hoped that Oliver wouldn't snap at him. "He's different…no other would treat me like that…like…" the blonde struggled for a moment to find the word he was searching for. "…a human."

_Poppet, I fancy him too. I think he can help us. _Oliver surprisingly agreed with Arthur. The Brit paused, taking a moment to wrap his mind around the fact that Oliver was actually agreeing with him. This was a first.

"…Excuse me…? If he helps…then you'll disappear," Arthur bit his lower lip in thought. The idea of Oliver being gone was rather appealing, but it seemed so out of reach. Could the new doctor really do something about it? Would the voices and images all finally go away? It just seemed too good to be true.

_Oh no, no, no, love. I will not disappear._ Oliver laughed and Arthur cringed in response. That laughter did always hurt his ears. It was a shrill, high-pitched sound that bothered him very much. It annoyed him to no end. _I've thought about this, and I'm quite taken to the idea. Hear me out, poppet._

Arthur wasn't so sure he wanted to hear another one of Oliver's infamously brilliant ideas, but he really didn't have much of a choice. Oliver would tell him whether he liked it or not. Better to just cave in now. "I'm listening. Go on, git."

_That's not a nice word to use. _Oliver scolded, causing Arthur to roll his eyes. _But anyway, I was thinking that you could feign being cured. Do you understand? Just steadily begin acting like a normal person. I'll even keep in here most of the time. It'll be simple! What do you think?_

Instantly, Arthur knew his answer. "I don't like it at all. I want to be out, but how can I even begin to act normal? I've been nothing but a lunatic since the day I was born. I don't know what normal is."

Oliver at this point was becoming annoyed. _Fine. Get close to Dr. Jones then. You're cute. Surely you can use _that_ to your advantage. Everyone likes a pretty face, love._

Arthur's eyes widened in horror. Why in the world would Oliver dare suggest something like? After what he'd been through, he knew there was no way it would work. Using his looks to win the appeal of a doctor was revolting and it honestly made him sick. Doctors had been taking advantage of him for as long as he can remember. Why would he want to risk that happening again?

"I-I can't do that…I _refuse_ to do that,"

There was a moment of eerie silence…and then screeching. Arthur winced and wished that he could free his hands to cover his ears. Oliver was mad. Things were about to go downhill very, very quickly.

_What do you mean you refuse? Are you completely soft in the head? You have a chance of getting us out of here, and you'd rather rot in this prison?! No! I will not have this, you lunatic! You stupid, insignificant chav! _

The asylum room went dark before Arthur's eyes. Everything morphed into terrifying, hideous entities that all hissed unintelligible garble at him. The entities bent and twisted in ways that no human could manage, each one making their way to the frightened Brit. They surrounded him closely and put their hands—if the blurred shapes at the ends of their arms could be called hands—all over him, squeezing and clawing at him. Arthur stared wide-eyed at the dark masses, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he willed himself to believe that this was all just a hallucination and to tune out the awful voices scaring him. The voices of monsters only got louder and louder, as if they knew he was trying to cast them away. Their grips tightened and they formed an even tighter ring around him, set on proving just how real they could be. Arthur gasped desperately for breath, finding himself becoming claustrophobic, and frantically thrashed about in the strait-jacket that held him. He had to get out. These things were going to kill him. There was no saving him now.

**...xXx...**

The doctor was certainly surprised upon returning to the room. Arthur's state had changed drastically since he'd left. The blonde was trembling violently and hyperventilating, tears flooding out of his open green eyes. Alfred immediately knew what was happening and rushed to the panicked man. The American plopped himself down in front of the Brit and set the tea and scone next to him while he tended to Arthur. Arthur was in a terrible state of shock, no doubt from some sort of hallucination he was probably having. Alfred needed to shake him out of it. It wasn't good for the patient to get like this.

"Arthur, hey, I need you to hear me, ok?" Alfred reached out and gently took Arthur's shoulder, staring straight into the other's eyes. "Can you hear me? It's not real. You're going to be ok, Arthur. Listen to me, ok? It's not real. It's not real."

The patient, despite Alfred's reassurances, continued to breathe unevenly and remained rooted in his vision. Alfred furrowed his eyebrows, concerned for the other, and carefully shook Arthur, hoping to jolt him back into reality. It didn't work, not that he had much faith in that move in the first place. It was worth a shot though.

"Hear my voice and bring yourself back. You're ok, Arthur. Whatever you're seeing, it's just a hallucination. Nothing is going to hurt you," Alfred held Arthur's gaze, breathing out a sigh of relief when the Briton's green eyes began to focus. "That's right. Come on, you're almost there. Don't let it control you."

After much more coaxing on Alfred's part, Arthur thankfully pulled himself completely out of whatever terrible hallucination he had been trapped in. The American smiled kindly at the patient and retrieved a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping the tears away from Arthur's face.

"Take deep breaths. You're safe now. I promise," Alfred instructed, watching Arthur carefully to make sure he really was back in the real world. The blonde did as he was told and gradually calmed. "See? There's nothing to be afraid of. You're ok, Arthur. It's over."

Arthur flushed softly in embarrassment and shifted his puffy eyes to the floor. Alfred truly felt sorry for Arthur. He couldn't imagine ever being in the Brit's shoes. It must've been tough, being in such a state of fear, having all hope taken away from him. What Arthur saw, Alfred couldn't conjure up anything close to what had the patient so spooked. On top of hallucinations, Arthur had another self who was the cause of all of his grief. It was going to come to an end, Alfred would see to that.

"Well, I got your snack…and I brought tea too. I wasn't really sure what I was doing at all, so please forgive me if I didn't get the right stuff," Alfred opened the bag the scone was stored in and watched Arthur wiggle around in the strait-jacket. The doctor huffed softly in amusement at the other's sudden energy and broke apart the scone, holding a piece up to Arthur's lips. "Here, let me help."

The Brit glanced up at Alfred, thankful for the kindness shown. He turned his attentions back to the snack and brightened just a bit as he timidly ate the piece out of the doctor's hand. When the first piece was gone, Alfred held the teacup to Arthur and helped him get a drink. Then the second piece of scone was offered and fed to the patient. Alfred noticed that Arthur was shy in taking the food from him, and it came across as cute to the American. Alfred wondered how someone like this could be so despised and feared.

It was utterly insane.


	5. Chapter 5

"You know, it's been a week and you still haven't spoken to me," Alfred commented, pacing around Arthur's room casually to disperse his hyperactive energy. He bit the inside of his cheek in thought and wondered if Arthur would ever reveal his voice. The doctor sure hoped so. "I understand that you're uncomfortable speaking to others, but it would make things a great deal easier on me. There are some questions I need to ask you that will require more than just a yes or no answer."

Alfred stopped pacing and looked to Arthur, offering him a smile. Arthur briefly met his doctor's eyes before dropping his nervous gaze to his lap. Alfred sighed and ran a hand through his hair, retreating into his thoughts. It'd been a whole week. With any other patient, he was at the friends stage by now. Of course, Alfred knew that this wasn't just any other patient and couldn't be expected to react like the others he'd treated. Still, it was frustrating that the patient wouldn't talk to him. Things would be so much easier if Arthur would just open his mouth and say something, _anything_. Whether it be a word or a few sentences. It didn't matter. Alfred would be happy with either.

"Arthur, I'm just trying to help you. You know that, right?" Alfred watched as Arthur responded with a tiny nod. The doctor managed a smile. Though he had been unsuccessful in getting his patient to speak thus far, he was grateful that they'd moved past the blinking method of communication. It was a good sign.

"So do you think that maybe, just maybe, you can say something for me? Use your voice?"

Arthur squirmed around, uncomfortable with being watched, and shook his head. Alfred's smile disappeared and his shoulders sagged at the answer. He'd sincerely hoped that this time Arthur would agree; he didn't believe Arthur really would in the first place, but there was no harm in hoping for the best. Crossing his arms, Alfred took a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes to gather up all of the patience he had within him to deal with this stubborn man. After returning himself to a more pleasant mood, Alfred opened his eyes and decided he would just have to work with the communication Arthur was offering for now.

"Ok, I suppose we'll just continue to stick with yes or no questions until you're comfortable enough to talk to me. Sound good?" Alfred raised his eyebrows at the patient, waiting on his response.

Arthur relaxed visibly and glanced up at Alfred, nodding and even flashing the doctor a small, grateful smile. Alfred, not expecting the smile, blinked in surprise. This was a first. Arthur was so miserable and upset most of the time that Alfred hadn't been sure the patient even knew how to smile.

Alfred shook away his surprise and returned the offered smile. "Great. Let's get started then. You know that Oliver is just in your head, right?"

The patient paused, his expression becoming timid and nervous. The smile left him and whatever little trace of happiness that had lit up his emerald eyes vanished into thin air. Arthur returned staring into his lap and shrugged, unsure of how to answer.

"…You don't know? What do you mean by that?" Alfred's forehead creased as his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "This is where speaking to me would really help out. Arthur, he can't hurt you unless you let him. You know that right?"

Arthur bit his lip and shook his head, his steady breathing quickening. The patient squeezed his eyes shut and Alfred could only guess that Arthur was having some sort of falling out with Oliver. From the looks of things, it was bad. Obviously, Arthur wasn't the one calling the shots; Oliver was.

"I'm sorry. Is it too early to talk about him?" Alfred moved from his spot to take a seat next to Arthur on the small bed. Arthur nodded quickly and shook with fear, scooting away from Alfred.

Alfred sighed and decided he'd best come up with something to cheer the other up. It was sad to see him so afraid and upset. Especially since it had been the doctor's fault it happened in the first place. Alfred ran his eyes over the shaking form, trying to think of something that might lift the Brit's spirits. He settled his gaze on the strait-jacket and grinned as an idea hit him.

"Arthur, I'm sorry again. But I think I know something that'll cheer you up," Alfred proclaimed, confident that his idea would bring about a positive reaction from the patient. Arthur slowly opened his eyes and casted a sideways glance at the doctor, wondering what could possibly cheer him up.

Alfred rested a hand on Arthur's back, eyes alit with excitement. "I'm going to get this thing off you. You'll be a little freer. It'll be great, Arthur."

The patient froze, all color seeming to drain from his features, and stared at Alfred in shock. His eyes widened and his trembling only increased, fear consuming him wholly. Terrified, Arthur shrank away from Alfred. This succeeded in confusing Alfred. That was definitely not the reaction he expected. After being bound like that for years and years, Alfred was sure that Arthur would be more than willing to have that restraint taken off. Apparently, this was not the case.

"W-what's wrong…? What has you so scared, Arthur?" Alfred gazed at Arthur in disbelief, having trouble comprehending that Arthur would actually like to stay in the jacket.

Arthur glanced at Alfred, then to the jacket and back at Alfred. Those tortured green eyes seemed to be begging for the doctor's to release him, but the rest of Arthur's expression didn't match up. His face dawned a look of pure terror and rejection of the idea. He looked to be at war with himself. Gasping softly, Arthur parted his lips slightly and appeared as though he were trying to say something. Alfred watched on with interest, wondering if maybe the patient would really speak to him.

"H-he…he'll h-hurt you…" Arthur whispered, struggling to regain control of his fear so he could properly warn the doctor. "T-the moment you r-release me…he'll hurt you."

Alfred smiled kindly at his patient and scooted closer to him, overjoyed that Arthur spoke to him. "I haven't had any problems so far. I think you're just scared, Arthur. There's no need to be. Nothing bad is going to happen to you or me." _At least I hope not. It's possible that Oliver could come out and attack me…_ the doctor thought and carefully set off to work on loosening the jacket, regardless of the threat that Oliver posed.

Soon, the strait-jacket was off and Arthur gratefully stretched his arms over his head, thankful that the restraint on his arms had been lifted. Both the doctor and patient then waited on Oliver to make his move. Minutes passed by and the psycho didn't reveal himself. Arthur sighed heavily in relief and hugged himself, glad that he was wrong for once. Alfred was relieved as well. Though he hadn't really believed Oliver would turn on him, the worry still lingered in the back of his mind. Smiling brightly, Alfred tossed the jacket to the floor.

"See? He didn't do a thing! Everything is fine, Arthur," the doctor nodded and ruffled Arthur's hair. "By the way, you have a very nice voice. You should use it more often."

Arthur's cheeks reddened at the compliment and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The patient looked at his doctor, the smile widening. Alfred, excited with the progress made, couldn't help but bounce up and down on the mattress, earning a strange look from his patient.

"This is great! You talked to me! This is good, Arthur! Do you think you can talk some more?" the doctor questioned, features lit up with happiness. Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Frowning, the patient looked away and remained silent.

Alfred sighed in exasperation, but made himself stay calm. There had to be some reason that Arthur wasn't answering him now. And Alfred was certain he knew what it was. "Is Oliver making you stay quiet now?"

The Brit nodded slowly, seeming embarrassed that Alfred was so quick to discover what the problem was. Passing a hand over his face, the doctor said, "You don't have to be afraid of him. You know? If you go along with treatment, he'll go away. I promise. You'll regain control of yourself again and you won't have to worry about him anymore. He won't be a threat to you."

Silence filled the air between the two. Alfred waited for a response, but didn't get one. He shook his head and looked away from his patient, feeling like a failure in that moment. No matter what he said or did, it seemed that he couldn't convince Arthur that everything really would turn out good again. The doctor supposed that was due to years of abuse and isolation, but it still didn't feel good to be so useless like this. There had to be something he could do, something that he could say, that would make Arthur believe he would get better. But what? What could he say now? What could he _do_?

Alfred jumped in surprise as a pair of arms hesitantly secured around him. For a brief moment, he thought the worst. Oliver had come out and was now going to try something with him. Hurt him maybe. Who knew? But when the doctor looked at the Brit, he relaxed. He didn't see a crazed, demented psychopath who was set on bringing harm to everyone around him. What he saw was a hurt, vulnerable young man who was reaching out to him for help. Arthur's eyes were welling up with tears and he shook in his effort to keep them there. The patient hid his face in his doctor's shoulder and huddled closer.

"Save me…please. I don't want to be crazy anymore…," Arthur said quietly, blushing in embarrassment at how desperate he must've sounded.

Smiling tenderly at the Brit, Alfred turned to better face his patient and carefully wrapped his arms around Arthur, comfortingly rubbing the patient's back. "Don't worry, Arthur. You're going to be just fine…I'll save you. I swear it."


End file.
